It was the first real fight of his life and Father Hawk wasn’t ready for it. He flailed around, kicking with his claws and stabbing with his wings, both of which had strengthened in his rebirth. However, his newfound strength was no match for his inexperience.
And his inexperience was barely a match for the wrath and ferociousness of the wolves. They struck at him with their sharp teeth as their jaws opened wide and clamped down on Father Hawk, attempting to shred his feathers off of his body.
Many times, they did manage to. Father Hawk wriggled free many times, but feathers ripped and blood spilled in places he was either blind to or was too slow to move away from.
But he did move. He moved as much as he could. Coordinated as much as he could. Every blow he tried to land with a wing or claw. Every blow from the arched claws protruding from the pounding paws. The adrenaline. The frenzy. They both addled him. Fuzzied his peripheral vision. First, they drove him to strike back at the cascade of clawed paws swinging at him from every possible angle. He lurched to the right, dodging a leg hurling down from above to the left. Only to have to meet the oncoming punch of a paw with a hand quickly raised and quickly clenched, all the way up the leg to hold strength back with strength of his own.
All the while, he had to fight. He couldn’t only defend.
He had to take a few kicks and punches in order to throw some of his own. When he was busy kicking, he abruptly swung his left wing across and outward from him. There were three wolves in that direction. The two closest to him dodged out of the way, but the third was taken by surprise and fell back, clutching his eyes and howling in pain.
Father Hawk drove forward, ignoring the impacts of other wolves pounding him from the sides. He reached for the staggering wolf that he’d hurt, attempting to wreak fracture in the gang of wolves where a few cracks had already been formed. Attack the weak link. The wolf with the hurt eyes continued to howl and waddle back blindly. Within mere seconds, the hurt wolf moved his paws away from his eyes, revealing that they were watery and fuming with anger and Father Hawk lunged forwards, moving his right leg up. His left was outstretched behind him, having bent and pushed off. As his right leg was about to land down and his left leg left the ground, a wolf behind Father Hawk grabbed his left leg.
Father Hawk wobbled and as he twisted his body and reached for his left leg, he plummeted, falling on his beak, wings and chest. His right leg slammed painfully on the ground and searing pain shot through his claws. His left leg hung above him, still clutched by a wolf.
The adrenaline that had driven him now weakened him, stressing and disorienting him. Unable to find a recourse in his circumstance, Father Hawk was ambushed in just a few milliseconds.
It was a storm of incessant obtrusive barking and a rapid hail of kicks, scratches and punches. In time, after Father Hawk had been beaten to the point of immobility and even numbness in some places, some wolves tore out tufts of his feathers.
The barking was so maddeningly loud that Father hawk couldn’t hear his own screaming. He felt like he was in a state of perpetual panic, unable to comprehend what was happening to him after a certain point, let alone do anything about it.
So, helplessly he endured the barking and repeated spots of hot pain on his back. His eyes saw black. Father Hawk didn’t know if his eyes were closed and he had long forgotten if he had closed them.
Feeling was singular; he was being submerged in a sea of pain. He lost his agency. He could no longer direct his thoughts towards actions. He couldn’t move anything or do anything. He could only feel physical pain and the pain of not being able to do anything about it.
Eventually the incessant beating subsided, but the stinging burning pain did not. The impacts and bursts of pain stopped, but the burning did not. The impacts and bursts of pain stopped, but the bath of total hurt remained.
Sound was the only sensory input that was coherent and concrete to Father Hawk. Hearing was the only sense of his that stayed intact.
The wolves abandoned him. Father Hawk could hear their footsteps, growing ever fainter as the stones under their steps jiggled and the twigs crunched and clumps of dirt whooshed, sinking under their weight.
“Stay in your place,” muttered one of them. Father Hawk knew it was for him. Without the constant beating, Father Hawk could find the will and mobility to move, however painful it was. He writhed, trying whatever motion he could to get out of his pathetic hapless situation.
There were still wolves howling far off from the dense deepness of the woods, their visibility clouded to Father Hawk by what he knew were acres and acres of woodlands shrouded by darkness. Darkness, that ever present muddier, coming in the form of blankets concealing the light of the sky and the omnipotent force of darkness, misfortune, trials and tribulations.
Father Hawk ceased moving, struck by utter dejection. Would there ever be light on the other side of this all encompassing darkness?
“You won’t know the answer to that question unless you find the will enough to cross to the other side,” thundered a familiar voice.
Father Hawk’s eyes widened.
“Huntsman,” he whispered. Father Hawk grunted in his effort to roll over on his side. He bared his beak and squeezed his eyes in concentration even as they bulged, flitting to and fro on the horizon and then on the sky that he allowed himself to see by rolling over.
He exhaled in jagged breaths when he lay on his side, looking up at the sky and wincing in his excruciating pain.
He spotted the Huntsman glowing in his pale blue phantom body up in the starry black depths of space.
“Huntsman!” he repeated, drawing in rapid short breaths and softly whimpering. “Why— why would you let me think I was strong only to see myself fail and suffer?”
“I didn’t let you think,” said the Huntsman. “I let you know.”
Father Hawk closed his eyes. He couldn’t look at Huntsman in his pain and try to reckon with and understand the being who coached him and pushed him onto his journey.
“No!” said Father Hawk, still closing his eyes. “I don’t feel strong! I feel like nothing!”
“You are what you say,” said the Huntsman. “I let you face the wolves because I knew you had become strong enough to face defeat.”
“You let me fail?” snarled Father Hawk in a quavering voice. He opened eyes that were already watery. Huntsman was a blurry pale mass. “I don’t know what to believe! The wolf leader told me that you sent me to the shadowlands to do the work you were too afraid to do!”
“Why would you send me to something that you’re better off doing?”
“I can only look within my psyche,” said the Huntsman. “I cannot go inside. What I do in the canyons changes, molds and reinforces parts of my psyche. But unlike you, I can’t move inside the darkness of my soul— the shadowlands — a place you now have access to. You can retrieve the Flower of Life from Coyote King. My indifference and procrastination has allowed my monster, the Coyote, to imprison the gem in front of me that I knew not to guard until it was taken from me. When you ignore your problem, they can become so buried and embedded deep inside of you that it becomes harder and harder to reach for it and solve it. The less you can reach for it, the bigger the problem can grow.”
“I am acting the best I can by sending you forth and guiding you.”
“This isn’t fair,” said Father Hawk, matter of factly in a tone devoid of much bitterness. “But I didn’t have a say in the matter so why bother, right?”
“Right,” said the Huntsman. “I don’t have a say in the matter now either.”
“What do you have to say about this?” asked the Huntsman. “What do you think, Father Hawk/”
Father Hawk sighed.
“I, uh………I think I better get on my way,” said Father Hawk. “The wolves can’t beat me every time, not if I can keep getting stronger.”
“And how do you get stronger?” asked the Huntsman.
“Just like I did before,” said Father Hawk. “By fulfilling and then returning. Subjecting myself. To you and the world around me. No, I won’t die. Not now. I’m going to get back.” Father Hawk’s pain had receded. He slowly stood up, wincing and bracing against some branches that he staggered to on his left to stay balanced. As he moved more, feathers all over his body unclumped and extended, now freer.
The dank and earthly smell of the moist soil edging the lapping waters wafted over and Father Hawk breathed it in deeply. “I grow from my pain as I did in the oblivion of your soul.”
The Huntsman smiled.
“You’ll know what to expect now,” he said. “From the wolves. You’ve faced them and through your failure have brought yourself knowledge.” The Huntsman raised his arms across him and his long beard suddenly rippled to the left. From far off on the horizon the sun of a new dawn was rising over the water; a brilliant white ball with an aura of yellow that pierced the darkness of night, shattering it and letting a lightning blue emerge behind the dissipating shards of black.
The light was seeping into the heavens, causing the stars and the Huntsman to fade away.
“You have been hurt, but our newfound strength is not gone. Reach for that strength and rise above the regret and embarrassment of failure. Do not yearn for me. You have many of the answers you seek. You need just look.”
“Not all the animals of the shadowlands are malicious and the eagle still awaits. You need just look.”
“Wait!” yelled Father Hawk. he staggered forth, wincing, but staying focused on the sky. “That doesn’t tell me everything! The wolf leader! He told me much more! What are—”
The Huntsman had disappeared and many of the stars behind him were gone. The baby blue of morning was creeping over the heavens. Father Hawk sighed and turned around.
Subject yourself. Endure and cross over to the light.
Father Hawk inhaled deeply as he scanned the woodland before him in fear.
Despite the growing light, the woodlands of the shadowlands were, well— shadowy.
Further through the thickness was the darkness of narrowly spaced trees, cramped and blocking out light with their overgrowth.
Subject yourself.
Father Hawk stepped through the trees and began a long walk through darkness.
G.R. Nanda 